Shots on Goal (Stick Side Book 3)

by Amy Aislin

  Cody peeked at him from the corner of his eye. “You sure you don’t want to move in with us?”

  Chuckling, Roman nudged him out of the way to get the ice cream. “You keep saying that and I’m going to start thinking you’re serious.”

  “Who says I’m not?”

  Roman turned, ice cream in hand, freezer door falling shut with a soft thwump, and found Cody right there. Close enough to touch. Close enough to spot the faint freckles that arced over his nose and cheekbones. Close enough to almost feel the humidity of Cody’s mouth when he licked his lips.

  This was it. Cody was going to kiss him again. For real this time. Roman sucked in a breath, stomach jumping with nerves, heart beating with excitement, lump the size of the state of Vermont forming in his throat with fear at the thought of being vulnerable. Roman didn’t honestly think Cody was a machete-wielding assassin-for-hire. Could be he was exactly what he appeared to be—earnest and hardworking and determined and loyal.

  But Roman hadn’t trusted his own judgment when it came to other people in a really long time.

  And besides, how bad was the timing? If they started dating, Cody would want to be out as a couple, and just the thought made Roman’s neck itch.

  Cody’s eyes dipped to Roman’s mouth, then seemed to catch on the tub of ice cream Roman held in front of him like a barrier, a questioning furrow appearing between his brows. Something passed over his face—Uncertainty? Disappointment?—and he backed up a step, bumping into the counter.

  “Ice cream scoop?” he said, his voice scratchy and intimate in the otherwise silent apartment.

  “Ice cream scoop. Right.”

  Still, it took him a minute to turn away from Cody. Standing there, his hands frozen, the cold ice cream tub pressing into his stomach, he wanted desperately to reach out. Wanted to so bad that he leaned forward, toward Cody, whose eyes flared with surprise, before catching himself and jerking away to get the ice cream scoop.

  Because with the past hanging over his head, he didn’t trust himself. Or his judgment. Or whatever was happening between them.

  Cody was endlessly frustrated.

  With himself—for being unable to concentrate as he studied for his tests; for his inability to find speakers for the library; for his thoughts, which strayed toward Roman more often than he cared to admit, especially after Saturday night’s tense consumption of apple turnovers. It was like something had flipped in Roman, and he’d gone from friendly and welcoming to . . . well, still friendly. But with a distance between them that Cody couldn’t breach. And he’d tried to get them back to that comfortable camaraderie that’d been between them, but no matter how much Roman smiled or laughed or joked, there was an air of despondency to him, like a cloud of dark thoughts hovered over him.

  He was frustrated with the entire rest of the world too. Why was it so hard to get even one person—other than Roman—to give a talk at the library? Why didn’t anybody want to help him? Was no one taking him seriously? Was it the way he was asking? He needed to change tactics, but he didn’t know what he was doing wrong in the first place.

  And, of course, he was frustrated with Roman. Six days of distance between them and things hadn’t warmed. Even during Tuesday’s storytime. Roman had arrived ten minutes before he was due to lead the session, said a quick hello to the staff and an even quicker one to Cody, and went right into storytime. Cody hadn’t even seen him leave afterward. Even their texts were stilted. Example from two days ago—

  Cody: Hey! I spoke with Eileen and she’s totally on board with you doing a cooking demonstration and/or a talk about whatever topic associated with hockey you want. When should I book you for?

  Roman: Whenever.

  Cody: . . . Okay. How about the first Thursday in March?

  Roman: Got a game that night.

  Cody: So obviously not “whenever.” Can you please give me some dates?

  For six days, Cody considered sending him a message of the What did I do wrong? variety, but not only did it sound pathetically desperate, it was stupid to think that Roman’s pulling away had anything to do with him. Roman could be going through his own thing. Sure, he’d started being weird while Cody was there, but that didn’t mean anything, did it? He was just as tempted to send him an Is everything okay? How can I help? text, but he already knew what Roman’s answer would be.

  I’m fine.

  Cody didn’t want an I’m-fucking-fine, thank you very much.

  He was even frustrated with Mitch, who was flying to Toronto this evening so he and Alex could spend the weekend house hunting. Here Mitch was, growing up right in front of him, getting his life together, and Cody was stalking Roman online.

  Okay, not stalking stalking. But he had googled the Trailblazers’ game schedule to find out if they were playing tonight. Sitting in the drop-off zone of the Burlington International Airport after dropping Mitch off, he brought his phone closer to his face and squinted at the screen. Today, Friday, the Trailblazers had no scheduled games. Their last game had been an away game two nights ago, and their next one was tomorrow at home. Which meant Roman had to be in the city, right?

  And what? Cody was going to show up on his doorstep and demand . . . what? That they be friends again? That Roman tell him what was wrong? All Cody wanted was to hang out with him. And yeah, he still wanted to kiss him too, regardless of Roman being as distant as the fucking horizon. But it was clear that Roman didn’t want to kiss him. Trepidation had been written all over his face when they’d stood too close in the kitchen, and he’d held the ice cream tub between them like an invisible wall. Like he didn’t want Cody to come any closer.

  Fine. Cody wasn’t stupid. Psychology major, hello! Body language was his jam. He could take a hint. No kissing. Friends only. He could deal with friends only; he wanted Roman in his life one way or the other, and if it was as just friends, so be it. That was probably better anyway—no broken hearts when Cody left for grad school, assuming he was accepted.

  Pulling up his maps app, he typed in Roman’s address. Damn, not only was the drive to his apartment straightforward but it was all of eleven minutes.

  Eleven. Minutes. He could be there in less time than it took him to clean up after Mitch in the mornings. With his heart begging for Roman and his head telling him to give the guy his space, he leaned his head back against the headrest and settled in to overthink some more.

  A knock on the passenger side window startled him so badly his phone leaped out of his hands and hit the car mat at his feet.

  “Sir.” An airport security guard wearing a bright yellow vest crouched to talk to him through the window. “You can’t park here.”

  Right. Waving to show he’d heard, he looked over his shoulder out the back passenger window, but Mitch was long gone into the airport, heading toward his future. Cody, desperately wanting to head to his own, pulled into the parking lot of a motel off Airport Road and called Roman.

  Roman’s soups were a hit. Such a hit that his teammates now wanted all manner of foods. Goat-cheese-stuffed chicken. Homemade pasta sauce. Dumplings. Chicken pot pie. Shrimp and grits. Fried green tomatoes. Potato salad. Lasagna. Veggie lasagna.

  He had his work cut out for him.

  Maybe Cody would help?

  The thought wasn’t a surprise given he’d had Cody on the brain for almost a full week. What was a surprise was that picturing Cody in his life didn’t freak him out like it had last week. Maybe he’d decided to trust in Cody’s sincerity, or in his own judgment. Maybe he just didn’t give a fuck anymore. Whatever the reason, his flight instinct seemed to have calmed enough that Cody was no longer a threat. That Cody had continued to text him all week, despite Roman being less than forthcoming, might have had something to do with it. He’d stuck by Roman while Roman was being an asshole and slowly worn him down to the point where he finally understood what Cody was trying to say: he wasn’t going anywhere.

  “See you tomorrow, Kinsey,” Ritz said as he and Honeybun passed him on thei
r way out of the locker room of their practice facility.

  “Later.”

  Roman had played the best hockey of his life this week, in practice and during games. No doubt an attempt to force Cody out of his thoughts and prove to himself that he didn’t need anyone else. But although he might not need anyone else, he sometimes wanted someone. Just because Kas and the rest of their friends on their major junior team had cast him out didn’t mean the entire world was a dickbag.

  He walked out to the parking lot with that idea floating in his mind—and the idea that maybe he was ready for more in his life than just hockey. So when his phone rang while he was shutting his car door behind him and he saw Cody’s name pop up on the screen, his hands tingled and he answered with a smile. Fuck, he’d missed Cody.

  “Hi, Cody.”

  A brief pause. “Roman?”

  “Yes?”

  “Oh. Hi. Sorry, I thought you were someone else because you sounded so . . .”

  Another pause, this one longer than the first.

  “So what?”

  “Um. Never mind.” He sounded weird. Off. Actually, he sounded tentative, which was something Roman couldn’t recall Cody ever being with him before.

  Concerned now, he said, “Is everything okay?”

  “Yup. Fine. Great, in fact.” There was the sound of a smack, like Cody had smacked himself in the forehead.

  “Okay. So. What’s up?”

  “What’s up? Oh. Right. Um, I’m in Burlington. Just dropped Mitch off at the airport to visit Alex for the weekend. Since I’m nearby, I thought I could maybe come by and give you the details of your talk at the library?”

  There was the tentativeness again. Roman didn’t want that; he wanted Cody to be comfortable around him, not this stuttering I thought I could maybe caution.

  “Sure, that’d be good. I’m just leaving practice, though, so give me twenty minutes to get home.”

  It took more like twenty-five because he got caught in an early rush hour snag on Main Street. He drove on autopilot and spent the entire time thinking about Cody’s perfect pink lips so that by the time he arrived, he was a bundle of flushed, nervous energy. Bypassing the elevator, he took the circular stairs in the middle of the building up seven floors.

  And found Cody quietly sitting on the very top step.

  Cody’s smile lacked its usual brightness. “Hey.”

  “Hey, Cody.” Roman squeezed his knee and sat next to him. Wedged together on the top step, they were shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh, giving Roman a little thrill. “How was your week?”

  “It was okay. Had a couple of psych tests. Pain in the ass when they’re in the same week, you know?”

  “I never went to university, so no. I don’t know.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s annoying.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Wanna come in?”

  “Sure.” They rose, and Cody patted the messenger bag on his shoulder. “Got everything you need right here.”

  Inside Roman’s apartment, they shed winter coats and boots. Surprise briefly flared in Cody’s eyes when he registered his scarf around Roman’s neck, making Roman wince. He’d been an ass this week for ignoring Cody, no two ways around it.

  “Listen,” he said once they were seated on barstools at the kitchen counter, a thin folder pulled from Cody’s bag between them. “I’m sorry about this week. I know I haven’t exactly been . . . around. I was just trying to figure some shit out.”

  Cody tilted his head. “And did you?”

  Looking into Cody’s pale blue eyes, Roman said, “No. But I think I’m starting to.”

  Cody blinked, eyebrows lowering, the look of confusion so at odds with his squared shoulders that Roman’s chest lightened for the first time all week.

  He squeezed Cody’s wrist. “What’ve you got for me?”

  Removing a sheet of paper from the folder—the only thing actually in the folder, which made Roman grin and Cody scowl at him—Cody went through everything with him, line by line, essentially a what and where and who of what Cody was calling Don’t Shut Down the Library, Assholes: A Speaker Series.

  “I mean, obviously the customer-facing name is simply Glen Hill Library Speaker Series.”

  “Obviously.”

  Cody’s eyes narrowed. “You’re making fun of me.”

  “Oh yes.”

  Cody’s laugh was nice to hear after a week of texting.

  “I’ll leave this with you,” he said, sliding the sheet in Roman’s direction. “Remember: those dates are tentative until I confirm with Eileen that they won’t conflict with anything else she’s got going. Any questions?”

  “How many people should I expect? No, wait.” Roman held up a hand, palm out, the universal stop gesture. “I take it back. I don’t want to know. I’ll just psych myself out.”

  “But you play in front of thousands.” Cody rose, latched his bag closed, and fit the strap over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, but I don’t have to talk to them.”

  “Public speaking isn’t scary.” He headed to the front door and lifted his coat off the hook. “If you speak with enough confidence, they’ll believe anything you say. Just pretend you’re speaking to one person.”

  Roman leaned against the wall next to the door. “It’s hard to pretend I’m only speaking to one person when I can see more than that in the audience.”

  Cody turned to him, boots on, scarf on, coat zipped, gloves sticking out of one pocket, and said so softly Roman strained to hear him, “Just pretend you’re talking to me.”

  Tension arced between them, the good kind, the kind with so much potential it made Roman’s hands tremble and covered him in a thin layer of sweat as possibilities opened up. “Yeah. I think that might work.”

  Cody’s smile was sweetly pleased. “I’ll see you Tuesday?” Without looking away from Roman, he grasped the doorknob, pulled the door open. “For storytime?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “’Kay. Bye, Roman.”

  “Bye, Cody.”

  Cody walked out into the bright hallway backward, lips curved upward, eyes so bright and happy it made Roman’s nerves flip and dance. Then, with a final, tiny wave, Cody turned. Roman stood at the door, wishing he had the guts to call Cody back.

  Before he reached the stairs, Cody stopped and threw his shoulders back. Turning, he marched back to Roman, head held high, his bag flopping behind him and hitting him in the back of the thighs. He stopped in front of Roman and sucked in a breath. “Am I the only one feeling this?” He waved a hand between them. “Whatever this is? Please tell me I’m not. Please tell me you’re at least a little bit not straight.”

  A chuckle rose in Roman’s throat and he let it loose, absurdly glad that one of them had the guts to own up to the “whatever this is” between them. For the first time in his life, he knowingly and willingly outed himself: “I’m very much not straight. And no, you’re not the only one feeling this.”

  “Oh.” Cody’s expression turned soft. With less than a foot of space between them, his sigh whispered across Roman’s lips. “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

  “Yes. Definitely okay.” So okay. Hell, they should’ve been kissing since last weekend, but Roman had been too stuck in his own thoughts to think beyond people aren’t to be trusted.

  With a mischievous smirk, Cody leaned in, one hand finding its way behind Roman’s back. Roman met him halfway, barely breathing, heart thumping so fast it made him dizzy. Or maybe that was Cody’s scent, that smell of grass and winter, so much stronger on the man himself than on the scarf Roman always wore when he went out.

  Their lips brushed—

  And the elevator announced its presence on their floor. They jumped apart, Roman with a growl and Cody with an eye roll and a muttered “Seriously?” He shot Roman a shrug and a what can you do smile. Roman huffed and sent him a their timing sucks one back. He didn’t know if Cody understood him, but it nevertheless earned him a quiet chuckle.

  Th
ere were two other apartments on this floor. The building manager lived in the one on Roman’s left. The one on his right was currently empty but, like Roman’s, was owned by the Trailblazers.

  “Does the elevator even work?” Cody muttered when several seconds went by and nothing happened.

  “Yeah.” Roman cleared the gravel out of his throat. “It’s just slow as fucking dirt.”

  Cody frowned, head cocked. “Dirt doesn’t move.”

  “Exactly.”

  Finally, the elevator doors opened, slower than his brain before coffee. Why would the building manager take it anyway? He knew better.

  Out stepped—

  Not the building manager. Heart pumping for an entirely different reason, Roman jerked up from his slouch against the doorjamb.

  Not twelve feet away was a man he never thought he’d see again except as a rival on the ice. His chest constricted, shortening his breath. Sweat broke out over his forehead, his upper lip. His hands fisted, his entire body poised to fight as memories he relived enough as it was assaulted him.

  A smirk.

  A door shutting in his face.

  His best friend outing him to the team.

  “Kas?”

  “So he just . . . shut the door?”

  “Yeah.” Cody climbed out of the driver’s seat and slammed the door behind him. “He was all, ‘Uh, um, er, sorry,’ and then I had a door in my face.”

  Mitch grabbed his duffel bag from the backseat and led them up the walkway of their townhouse. The day was bitterly cold, the evening sky dark and foreboding, matching the sensation in Cody’s soul. Fat flakes had started to fall midway through their drive home from the airport.

  “Anything since?”

  “Nope.” Inside the house, they shed winter gear. “I’ve been texting him for two days, and nothing. It’s like he fell off the face of the Earth, which I know he didn’t because he played in last night’s game.” Cody went down the hallway and through the kitchen into the living room, where he fell face-first onto the couch, his glasses smushed onto his face. “He’s been hot and cold since we met, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of him. I’m done with him.”